“Awful.”
He laughs. “I was going to say a good start.”
He’s so close, his leg presses against mine. I try not to think about it—and definitely try not to think about our kiss, though that’s an impossible mission.
“Care if I tweak things?” he asks, gesturing to the screen.
“Be my guest. In fact, start over.”
Anything he comes up with has to be better than what I had.
Immediately engrossed in his task, Landon opens a new screen, uploads a few pictures from his phone, and gets to work. After a few minutes, unable to handle sitting so close to him, I wander into the kitchen, leaving him to it.
“What are you doing in there?” he calls after a while.
I put the finishing touches on two chocolate chip cookie sundaes and bring them into the living room. I sit next to him…though not as close as before.
“You are the best faux girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he says, greedily accepting the ice cream.
“Have you had many?”
He smirks and takes a massive, boy-sized bite. It should be disgusting, but it only makes me laugh. As he eats, he continues to work.
I watch him, more than a little impressed. As I finish the last bit of caramel syrup at the bottom of my dish, I tell him, “You’re really good at this.”
“I hope so.” He makes a few final tweaks. “I’m thinking about studying graphic design.”
“You definitely should.”
The finished flyer looks incredibly professional—in fact, it looks like we hired someone to make it. And it took him less than thirty minutes.
“Thank you,” I say, wholeheartedly meaning it.
He saves the file and closes the computer. “Don’t think too highly of me. My motives were entirely selfish.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m unable to look away. “How is that?”
“I’m bored, and you’ve locked yourself away for the last few days. Now you have no excuse to avoid me.”
“I wasn’t avoid?—”
“Yeah, okay,” he says with a laugh. His phone rings as he’s dragging me off the couch.
He pulls it from his pocket, and the smile drops from his face. The phone continues to ring, and he stares at the number.
“Landon?” I ask, growing a bit worried.
He looks up. “It’s Evie.”
“Evie…like, your Evie?” And though it’s none of my business, I feel sick.
He’s already shoving the cell back into his pocket, but I put on a nonchalant expression. “You can answer it if you want.”
“Should I?” he asks, unsure.
No,I think, but I say, “Why not?”
He nods, hesitant, and then answers the call. But not like I expect.
